Outlook
by Kavaul
Summary: Words of the known and unknown, hidden deep in the past and buried.
1. Anei

**..:Anei Nara:..**

He'd always been unique, a small, frail child with wide, dark eyes and black, white-streaked hair.

Anei's name was unoriginal, pertaining to his clan's ability to manipulate shadows, but he had the strongest ability for shadows since the Nara clan began.

He stayed out of shadows, shoulders hunched inwards in a way that said, 'Don't notice me.' Because he had a secret.

A precious secret.

He had a phobia of shadows, because they constantly stretched closer to him, whispering of power and love, seeking his affection. The shadows wanted him, loved him with a passion that was disturbing, needing to be near him everywhere.

They tried to stretch across his body, to hold him tightly so time and war would never steal him away. But the shadows did not know, of breathing, or the heartbeat, or living.

Whenever he put foot in a shadow, it wrapped around him like a real physical substance, slithering around his neck in a constricting, loving hold until he told it to let go.

However, Anei Nara was smart, much like his cousin, Shikamaru, and he beat him at Go daily, in his house of carefully cultivated shadows.

He reminded them constantly that the humans could die. Troublesome.

But he watched a certain blonde kid walk out of his apartment every morning through a window, and if he wanted, he could go to the second floor to look at the marketplace.

From the whispers of the shadows, they could feel the Kyuubi's shadow trying to overtake the boy's. So, he assumed that he was a jinchuuri.

Such hardships.

One day, he mused quietly over him.

A thought flitted across his head, so sudden and fleeting and silly that he wasn't even sure if it was his; _I wonder, does he steal the light in the world?_

He was so cheerful—so_ bright_—That it was almost blinding to look at him. The pale half-man with black hair, white-streaked with fright, couldn't believe it was possible to have that much light.

Anei was used to a world of shadows, the shadows stretching towards him whenever he arrived, and the light dimming for no reason.

He lived in the darkness, choking with his unidentifiable shadow until all that was left was black.

The boy lived in light, smothering with shapeless light until nothing was left.


	2. Gaara

**..:Subaku no Gaara:..**

Perhaps, if he grasped the _sand_ hard enough, it would become warm with life instead of blood, and murmur soothing words into his ear instead of harsh, grating voices telling him to fight, fight, fight, kill, kill, hunt, to avenge his mother with the deaths of many.

Her voice told him to kill more, soak her sand with blood to sate her lusts for blood.

He could not sleep. Her voice ate and ate at his soul, and nightmares of shadowed dreams and blood, so much blood.

Gaara saw the world through his sand, wanting, _yearning_ for another warm, loving touch. But the sand hissed of deceit and treachery; _**'You know it will kill you, don't you? I will protect you, yes, I will never let anyone come near. They will hurt you, kill you. Let go, of these pretty dreams, kit, and leave them behind. . .'**_

So perhaps, if he grasped hard enough onto the humans so time and death could not reach them, the sand obeying his request with a low chuckle, he could bring back the lives that he had destroyed. But then, he grasped far, far too hard, and the man broke, and a seven-year-old was left alone again with his bloodied sand.

Then he saw a bright, blonde boy. Gaara saw the moments of sadness when his eyes darkened, a shadow passing over briefly, before he grinned, closing his eyes to hide the grief.

After a while the bright child seemed to become more solid and substantial, not falling from his grasp like the sand he held control over.

Until the kid, Naruto, had become fully solid, an anchor to the world of light and laughter and pretty dreams.

Gaara turned back, scooping them up again and narrowing his eyes at the sand. 'You lied.' A simple statement, before he slipped his slowly cracking mask back on.

Even if it was for simply a moment, he could at least pretend that this new world was going to last, that Naruto would not turn back into sand and drift away on the treacherous wind.

Until one day, he found that he was smiling, even a bit, and felt the last ripped, tattered and torn pieces of his mask drift away.

Gaara wondered, a thought fleetingly straying into his mind, barely escaping before he'd caught onto the tail of it. The thought went somewhat like; '_I wonder, how many masks he tried on before this?_'

He never got the courage to ask.

Because he already knew Naruto had tried on exactly five.

Why?

Well, they were very alike in many different ways.

Gaara realized that Naruto was not sand, not like all the others. He was real.

So he slowly began to acknowledge that everyone else wasn't the same, and became the ruler of the Sand Village.

Ironic, isn't it, that he became just to become solid, like Naruto, and not of the sand?

Yes, I think so, very much.


End file.
